


So Many Traps Between Us

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Hellspark - Janet Kagan
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, First Time, Foot Fetish, Hand Fetish, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: When Timosie is dead and Tocohl and Maggy have left Flashfever, when adrenaline spikes only after an unexpected and disconcertingly loud peal of thunder, when all the danger has passed and normal operations resume in camp, Buntec becomes suddenly shy around Edge-of-Dark.  Edge-of-Dark clearly feels the same uncertainty; her conversation is hesitant, awkward and wary in a way that it never was when they were working together to prove the sprookjes sapient.





	So Many Traps Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexybee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexybee/gifts).



_I don’t know how to get from here to there . . . without, as the Trethowen say, putting my f-foot in it._

 

 

When Timosie is dead and Tocohl and Maggy have left Flashfever, when adrenaline spikes only after an unexpected and disconcertingly loud peal of thunder, when all the danger has passed and normal operations resume in camp, Buntec becomes suddenly shy around Edge-of-Dark.  Edge-of-Dark clearly feels the same uncertainty; her conversation is hesitant, awkward and wary in a way that it never was when they were working together to prove the sprookjes sapient.

 

Buntec doesn’t know what to do; she’s such a rattlebrain.  Every self-conscious moment they share takes them farther away from what she hopes is growing between them.  She wishes she had Tocohl’s ease and understanding of other cultures to smooth the way, but she doesn’t, and Tocohl herself is too far outside communication range to help Buntec by now.  Whatever Buntec needs to do to bring Edge-of-Dark close again she must do on her own.

 

Carefully polite, Buntec says, “May I join you?” to Edge-of-Dark who is busy talking with the sprookjes about the different kinds of flower art created on her world.  “I’ve been curious about your craft as well.”

 

Edge-of-Dark nods and smiles in welcome as Buntec takes her hand and kisses it lightly in greeting.  Edge-of-Dark’s palm smells like the industrial soap they all use, and Buntec can suddenly envision bath time becoming a lot more interesting.  And frustrating.  Buntec notices that Edge-of-Dark is wearing her boots; in fact, Buntec can’t remember the time she last saw Edge-of-Dark’s bare feet.  Her heart warms at her friend’s courtesy.  Of course, at this point, Buntec is much more amenable to seeing Edge-of-Dark’s bare feet than she was before, just not in a public setting.

 

One of the sprookjes asks, feathers ruffling, “Do the plants you use have meaning, or do you choose them only for their aesthetics?”  Buntec is pleased that she can follow along with the conversation; since Tocohl broke the code, both humans and sprookjes have spent most of their waking hours working to learn each other’s languages.  Now the sprookjes with larynxes are able to serve as rudimentary translators when feather-speech becomes too complicated for the humans to understand.

 

Edge-of-Dark says, “On Vyrnwyn each plant has a different meaning.  The blooms of the swyn shrub indicate friendship, for example.  Plants from other worlds don’t have the same inherent meanings for my people, but we approximate meanings using the colors and textures of alien plants.”  She picks up a stalk of penny-Jannisett from the pile of plants she’s been using to demonstrate different configurations.  “Swyn blooms are a deep, burnished copper variegated with gold.  I might use penny-Jannisett in flower art I make for a friend to show her how much I value her friendship because it’s roughly the same color as a swyn bloom.” 

 

She looks at Buntec as she says this, and Buntec can feel the blush flame her cheeks.  Toes!  Buntec hasn’t blushed like a little kid since she was one.  Before the sprookjes can comment on her facial expression, Buntec says, “I’ve been working on that project we talked about before, ways to preserve the electric qualities of the Flashfever plants in your flower art. I was wondering if you’d like to come by later and see if they’ll work for you.  I can probably modify what I’ve made if it’s not suitable.”

 

Edge-of-Dark smiles—beautiful, brilliant—and Buntec feels dazzled, the hairs on her arms pricking like in the ozone-laden moment before the sky splits open and rains down.  “I’d love to,” Edge-of-Dark says.

 

  

_When I put on boots, I suddenly became human to Buntec.  And Buntec reciprocated . . . by learning the Vyrnwyn formal greetings—so she became human to me._

 

 

Edge-of-Dark glides into Buntec’s quarters pulling a dolly full of plants that have been transplanted to buckets and trays of earth.  “I didn’t want to uproot them until the last second,” Edge-of-Dark says.  “Most of them stop being electric within minutes after being picked.  I think the fresher, the better.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Buntec says.  “I haven’t experimented with how long or even if any of the plants remain electric after being uprooted or cut off their stalks.  This will be the first test of the devices I built.  We can experiment with time frames later once we see how well this first test goes.”

 

Buntec knows from the dinner in which she first had this idea that Edge-of-Dark won’t be able to follow a technical explanation of what she’s made, so she just pulls a grouping of flashgrass from a long tray, shakes the earth that clings to the roots back into the tray, and ties the grouping into a bundle just above the roots; then Buntec wraps a tiny, flexible device around the tie.  “Flassgrass and the other grasses should need just a small amount of current flowing through their root systems.”  As soon as the device snaps into place, the flashgrass ripples with green and white light.

 

“Buntec, this is amazing!”  Edge-of-Dark pulls Buntec into a hug, the feathered crown she wears in her hair brushing against Buntec’s cheek.

 

“This is just small potatoes,” Buntec says.  “Wait until you see the fountain I made for the smug erics and the drunken dabblers.”

 

“Thank you, thank you!”  Edge-of-Dark says, and then she kisses Buntec squarely on the mouth.

 

 

_I will close the distance, too.  If we warn each other, look out for each other, we will make it._

 

 

Even though Edge-of-Dark’s second skin is transparent, it has managed to mute the beauty of her clothing underneath, the richness and texture of fabrics, the subtle drape around the body when not constrained by the tightness of the second skin.  Buntec’s rough hands catch on silk when she touches Edge-of-Dark, and Buntec feels her face flame in a blush yet again. 

 

“I’m wearing too many clothes anyway,” Edge-of-Dark says and undoes the complicated knot at her waist.  The entire garment falls to the floor in a glimmering, green heap, and the syncopated rhythm of the flashgrass makes strange patterns on her naked skin.

 

“That’s a trick,” Buntec says.

 

Buntec’s own clothes are simple.  She wears no jewelry or cosmetics.  She could never manage to weave her hair into the intricate style that supports Edge-of-Dark’s crown if she tried all day.  Just when Buntec might start to feel like a backwater farm hick standing next to a queen, Edge-of-Dark unbuttons Buntec’s coveralls with such a look of wonder and delight on her face that Buntec stops feeling embarrassed.  If someone as beautiful as Edge-of-Dark can look at Buntec with that kind of desire, Buntec would be a fool to waste even a second of their time together feeling self-conscious.

 

There’s just as much room for error in sharing their bodies as there is in sharing a meal or extending basic courtesies, but in this moment, all Buntec’s anxiety and fear disappear.  If they make mistakes, they can work through them.  If she does something wrong, Edge-of-Dark will let her know, and, oh, Buntec hopes Edge-of-Dark will let her know what she does right, too.

 

Kissing seems just the same in Vyrnwyn as it is in Jannisetti, and so does pushing Edge-of-Dark down onto her bed and touching all the soft skin Buntec can reach.  That amazing dinner Edge-of-Dark prepared for her gives Buntec an idea, one she hopes won’t break any taboos.  She takes Edge-of-Dark’s lovely hand in her own and lightly licks Edge-of-Dark’s palm and fingers, darts her tongue across sculpted nails painted a green so dark it is almost black.  Edge-of-Dark makes the most wonderful, needy sound Buntec has ever heard, and Buntec slowly sucks one finger into her mouth entirely.

 

“Oh, Buntec,” Edge-of-Dark says, panting into Buntec’s shoulder, “I had no idea you’d be so well versed in Vyrnwyn sexual practices.”

 

Buntec lets Edge-of-Dark’s finger slide slowly out of her mouth.  “I’m not,” Bunctec says.  “I just had a hunch.”

 

Edge-of-Dark laughs.  “Well, your hunch was correct.  I hope you won’t think me too eager if I tell you that I’ve been doing research on Jannisetti sexual customs in the hopes we might end up in bed together.”

 

Buntec starts to make a crass joke and then reconsiders when she realizes that Edge-of-Dark seems nervous at the admission.  She puts her hands on Edge-of-Dark’s shoulders, looks her directly in the eyes, and says, “I’m flattered and so, so lucky to be here with you right now.”

 

Edge-of-Dark smiles again, and then she slithers down Buntec’s body and starts massaging her left foot.  Buntec fists her hands in the bedsheets and arches her back; Edge-of-Dark’s nimble fingers pressing into her instep feel even better than Buntec had imagined, and when Edge-of-Dark starts kissing her ankle, her mouth trailing down wetly to Buntec’s toes, Buntec can’t hold back a moan.

 

A percussion of rain begins on the roof of Buntec’s quarters.  The strange and otherworldly light of Flashfever illuminates their bodies in staccato bursts, and Edge-of-Dark laughs delightedly before turning her attention to Buntec’s other foot.  For two people who could barely stand to be in the same room with each other at the beginning of the expedition, Buntec supposes she and Edge-of-Dark are making a pretty spectacular go of things.

 

“And now we’re here,” Buntec thinks, her breath ragged and sweat starting to prick on her skin.  “All the way from there, and no looking back.” 

 


End file.
